


Close Encounters

by Am-Chau (Vacillating)



Category: Seinfeld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:34:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Am-Chau





	Close Encounters

Title: Close Encounters  
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona  
Fandom: Seinfeld  
Pairing: George/Elaine  
Prompt: none given  
For the [sitcomathon challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/sitcomathon/)  
Betaed by PonderS (my brother) and loneraven

Elaine woke more slowly. Her instinct was to remain cosily wrapped in the blankets, warm, with the pillow muffling George's wordshang on. Whose words?

She sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her breasts. "GEORGE?!?"

"Me!" George replied. "WeIdid we" George gestured violently up and down, clearly indicating Elaine, or the bed, or just possibly the apartment block opposite. "Did you and I, you know, THING?"

"We..." Elaine hesitated, taking stock of her body. She was naked under the sheets. George was naked, and not under the sheets, either. He really was a bit on the flabby side, now she came to look at him in daylight. There was a wet patch under her left knee. She aware of a little soreness in her... most obviously female regions. Yes, they had. "Oh my God," she said. "We did! We came to the party, and wething!"

"And," George said, breathless, "we're still in Jerry's apartment." He began to pace the length of the room, back and forth. Several thousand sights in the northern hemisphere alone were more appealing.

"Let's be logical," Elaine suggested.

"Logical?" George spat back. "Logical? I can't even be sensible at a time like this! Panicking, Elaine, panic and wailing and tugging of hair, these are the things we need to do."

"Fine," Elaine said. "You panic if you like, though given how much hair you've already lost I'd advise against pulling it out. Just put some clothes on first."

George stopped pacingthankfullyand looked around. "Where are my clothes?" he asked after a moment.

"They must be around somewhere," Elaine said. "I distinctly remember that you were dressed when you arrived last night."

"Perhaps they're in the other room," George suggested, casting a nervous glance towards the connecting door.

"Probably," Elaine nodded. "Pass me mine, and I'll go and look."

Once again, George took a long, slow look around the room before he replied. "Err, Elaine," he said. "I can't see your clothes, either."

Wide-eyed, they exchanged a look of mutual horror, and turned to stare at the blank door.

Eventually, Elaine said, "Our clothes must be out there."

"We can't go out there like this," George said. "We can't."

"We could call someone and ask them to bring us some clothes?" Elaine asked.

George shook his head. "No. It would mean that someone else knew what's happened. And two, the phone's out there anyway."

Sighing, Elaine curled up, resting her head on her knees. She found herself looking straight at Jerry's closet. "George!" she said, lifting her head, hope returning to her heart. "We can wear Jerry's clothes!"

Half an hour later, they were both decentin the sense of having their private parts covered, rather than of being well dressed. An old shirt hung down to Elaine's knees, while trousers on George had required a strong belt and some breath-holding as well as the cuffs rolling up.

"Let's go," George said. Now he wasn't naked, he'd lost the distraction from claustrophobia and cabin fever.

"Wait," Elaine said, forcing George to pause with his hand on the doorknob. "What if we meet somebody?"

"We'll sneak," George shrugged. "I can sneak. I've seen you sneak before now. We can sneak past, and they'll never know." He grinned at her, hopefully. Reluctantly, she nodded, and he opened the door.

With one accord, they dropped silently into their best sneaking mode. Backs flat against the wall, and standing on tiptoe as far as possible in over- (Elaine) or under- (George) -sized shoes, they crept towards the corner into the living room. As they reached it, they stood side-by-side, careful to keep as far out of sight as possible, and peered around.

Kramer was sitting boldly on the couch, eating salted peanuts.

A single breath and they were flat to the wall again, spies in enemy territory.

"Do you think he saw us?" George whispered, urgently.

"I can hear you, too," Kramer replied.

Heaving another sigh, Elaine peeled herself from the wall, moving to stand in full view. "How long have you been here, Kramer?" she asked tiredly.

"All night," Kramer replied. "I came home drunk and couldn't get into my apartment, so I crashed on the couch here." He paused, then added, "Say, I heard you two having a good time last night. Eh, George?"

George, who had been attempting to maintain the hide and stay hidden technique, slowly made his appearance. "I don't remember," he said, flatly.

Kramer had stood up, tripping over something in the process. He bent down to investigate whatever it wasit was out of sight because of the couchand when he came up, it looked like an item of female underwear. "Hey, look what I found, Elaine," he said. "Want it?"

"Want it!" Elaine snapped. "It's mine already!"

"And this?" Kramer enquired, holding out a distinctly male garment.

"Mine!" George gasped.

Kramer insisted on passing them each item of clothing individually, but in time they were each in possession of full sets, or at least, enough to change. They did so, one at a time, in the bathroom.

"Did you give her a good time?" Kramer asked George while Elaine was switching clothes. George was still, having acted the gentleman, wearing Jerry's, and hence a bit uncomfortable.

"I said I don't remember," George said, fidgeting with his collar.

"Well, I remember," Kramer told him. "I heard you, yeah, you must have been" Kramer made an explicitly sexual gesture, knocking over a bottle in the process"because you were calling out dirty words and Elaine's name."

"At least I got that right," George reflected, then sprang into action when Elaine appeared wearing her own clothes. "My turn."

"I wonder where Jerry is," Elaine said to Kramer, fixing herself an early alcoholic drink from the fridge.

Before Kramer could reply, two doors opened. The bathroom one swung open to reveal George Costanza, quick-change artist extraordinare, now half-wearing most of his own clothes and carrying Jerry's, while the apartment's front door was thrown back by none other than Jerry Seinfeld himself.

"Err, hello," Jerry said, exhibiting some signs of surprise.

"We were just leaving," George said. He hurried towards the door, bundle still in his arms.

"With my clothes?" Jerry asked.

George looked down, and nodded. "Yes," he said firmly. "We're... going..."

"... to take them to the laundry for you," Elaine finished quickly. She gathered up her collection of Jerry's clothes, including the shoes, and shuffled after him. "See you later. Bye."

The front door shut behind them.

Jerry stared at Kramer. "Can you explain that?"

Kramer shook his head violently. "Unlikely, dude," he replied, and handed Jerry the drink Elaine had poured only moments before.


End file.
